


We're the Kids Who Feel Like Dead Ends

by aconcretemoon



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, POV Second Person, Season 1 - 3, thoughts and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:37:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7655842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aconcretemoon/pseuds/aconcretemoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>You don’t know what it is that draws you to him. Because honestly, you never thought you’d be one to be attracted to the bad boys. And Mickey Milkovich is definitely a bad boy. Everyone knows that. And after you started hanging out with Mandy, you have seen that it is more than just a façade. You smile and shake your head. The dude has a drawer full of guns and ammo, for fuck’s sake.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A slightly experimental fic about Ian's experience surrounding some of the canonical events of Shameless season 1–3 (from Lip finding out he's gay in the pilot, until he joins the army). Written in a second-person narrative ("you"-narration).</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're the Kids Who Feel Like Dead Ends

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I wrote this. I don't know why I wrote it in the second-person narrative, and in the present tense. I don't know why I'm using so much repetition. Also I started writing it at 4AM and I wrote it all in one go, so I don't really know why I'm posting it either. But, whatever, I hope you enjoy! And I must admit I did have fun writing this!
> 
> Rated Teen and up for mentions of violence, sex, and non-con (but nothing explicit), plus a gratuitous amount of swearing. 
> 
> Title credit: I've Got A Dark Alley And A Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song) – Fall Out Boy

Life is pretty good. Well, as good as it can be when you have an alcoholic piece-of-shit dad and a runaway mom, when you live pretty fucking far inside the metaphorical closet – which is a good thing, considering you also live in a rough village in the non-metaphorical South Side – and when your family can barely catch a glimpse of the poverty line in the horizon. But all in all, you think, you could do a lot worse. You have a job, and even if most of it goes to making the ends meet at home, you also have a small, but steady income. You have a boyfriend – lover? – and an active sexlife. Which in itself is quite impressive for a closeted 15-year-old. 

When Lip confronts you about you being gay, a clusterfuck of various emotions is raging inside you, each trying to gain dominance. Shock, because _that just happened_. Lip knows, just like that. Anger, directed towards yourself, because _how could you be stupid enough to leave fucking gay magazines lying around for anyone to find_? Stress, because _what if Lip is judging you_? Fear, because _what if Lip tells anyone else_? Frustration, because _god, you’re a fucking pussy_. Anger, still towards yourself, because _how can you give Lip, your brother and best friend, so little credit_? But, you eventually realize, most of all: relief, because _that just happened_. Lip knows. Just like that. And now, you don’t have to hide it anymore. 

Well, apart from your relationship with Kash. You should probably keep that under wraps. 

_________________________________________________________________________

You don’t know what it is that draws you to him. Because honestly, you never thought you’d be one to be attracted to the bad boys. And Mickey Milkovich is definitely a bad boy. Everyone knows that. And after you started hanging out with Mandy, you have seen that it is more than just a façade. You smile and shake your head. The dude has a drawer full of guns and ammo, for fuck’s sake. 

Maybe it’s just the sexual frustration after things got put on hold with Kash. Or the fact that when you went to get Kash’s gun, the sex was great, even if you know you won’t experience the same adrenaline-fuelled passion again. Or maybe you just get off on the the thought of fucking a guy who practically tried to kill you. In which case, you think to yourself, you’re one twisted fucker. But then again, you’re a Gallagher. 

Whatever reason it is, it doesn’t really matter. There is not a shadow of doubt or hesitancy in your head when you lead Mickey into the Kash and Grab backroom. 

_________________________________________________________________________

Monica is back. Just the name itself is enough for every wave of betrayal, neglect, and false hope to come crashing down. The eschar covering the wound she has left time and time again, is ripped off. You feel too unprepared, too vulnerable. You don’t wanna go through this again. And even if everyone else in the living room feels the same way, you need to get out. So you do. 

You know that you should be going to work. Your shift technically started five minutes ago, but considering the recent news, you can’t find yourself to care. And showing up to be scolded by Linda for being late, before spending hours stacking groceries and interacting with customers, is not remotely tempting in your current state of mind. No, work is not the place to go. 

Before you know it, you find your feet running toward the Milkovich house. You try to convince yourself that you’re there to talk to Mandy, but when Mickey opens the door, you know that that’s just not true. As you stand there, with glazed eyes and a breaking voice, you don’t care if you seem desperate, because in that moment, that is what you are. 

_________________________________________________________________________

Everything is happening so fast. In one moment, Kash walks into the backroom while you’re balls deep in the guy who’s been openly stealing from the store for weeks. Next thing you know, Kash is standing there with the gun in his hand. The gun you stole back for him. 

Everything is happening so fast. In one moment, Kash fires the gun at Mickey. Then, Mickey collapses to the floor, clutching his thigh. Shit. Instinctively, you rush to Mickey’s side, without caring about the gun still in Kash’s hands. 

Even after the paramedics and policemen arrive, you can’t believe it. You never thought Kash would have the guts to actually pull the trigger. In fact, you never thought you’d be in such a fucked up mess. But here you are. What the fuck. 

_________________________________________________________________________

You join Ned back to his room, and maybe you shouldn’t be doing it. But then again, Mickey isn’t your boyfriend, and even if you’re pretty sure neither has fucked anyone else lately, you know you aren’t exclusive. Besides, Mickey is in juvie. And just the fact that you cheating on Kash is the reason why he’s there, in the first place, is proof enough of your lack of moral integrity. Whatever. Monica has let you down, as predicted. You’re pretty buzzed, both on the alcohol and on the sense of liberty that comes with being at a gay bar. And the guy is pretty hot, and definitely willing, and you need to get off. So, whatever. Why not. 

_________________________________________________________________________

Mickey’s back in fucking juvie again. And for what reason? Assaulting a police officer. Well, at least it’s not for the murder of your dad – although you’re not so sure that would be such a bad thing. However, you reluctantly have to give Frank some credit where credit is due: he has been very chill about you being gay. Although the thought of Frank having seen you have sex is vomit-inducing, at best. 

...Fuck, you miss Mickey. 

_________________________________________________________________________

_“Missed ya”_

You replay the words in your head, over and over again – you’ve decided to ignore how he complained about the bad juvie sex afterwards. Even if he just missed your body, he still missed you.

_“Missed ya”_

You stare up into the ceiling, and try to force the smile off your face. It’s not working. You know you’re pathetic, with your stupid fucking school girl crush. If Mickey had known about this, he would probably call you a fucking faggot, and maybe punch you in the face. The thought makes you grin. Fuck! Get it together, Ian. 

_________________________________________________________________________

The adrenaline is rushing through you as you and Mickey are sprinting down the streets. You should probably feel sorry for Ned, he’s a nice guy and has treated you well. And it’s not as if he has done anything to deserve being on the receiving end of Mickey’s right hook. But man, right now you’re far too caught up in the moment to give a fuck. Mickey is fucking crazy, and even if you shouldn’t, you totally love it. 

_________________________________________________________________________

_“He’s not afraid to kiss me.”_

You don’t realize exactly how true it is until you’ve said it. It has been there, zimmering in the back of your head. You remember the first time you tried to kiss him, after the first time you fucked. Mickey had threatened to cut your tongue out. And, okay, maybe at that time it was fair enough – considering it’s Mickey fucking Milkovich. But you’ve been doing this for over a year now. You’d think that after taking it up the ass so many times, he would realize that kissing a dude isn’t going to make him any more gay than he already is. But apparently, that’s too much to ask. And although you hate to admit it, because it makes you feel like a pansy again, it’s starting to hurt. 

_________________________________________________________________________

Once again, you feel the adrenaline, and you really don’t know why, because this is not really a particularly dangerous or exciting situation. You’re technically stealing, yes, but it’s from an unarmed, drunk middle-aged woman, so there’s virtually no risk. You’re starting to wonder if this adrenaline-like sensation is just your default state when you’re with him. 

You’re driving the runaway car, so you’re having a smoke and trying to come up with something to do pass the time, when someone jumps into the car. You realize who it is right before he kisses you. It’s quick, so you don’t get to savor the moment, or even kiss back, before he jumps out of the van again. But it’s hard and passionate enough to leave you with a smile as you watch him run back up to the house. 

_________________________________________________________________________

You can’t get the images out of your head. Terry, busting in through the door. The gun, pointing right at you as you’re sitting on the dirty couch, blood running down your face and chest, heart in your throat. There was no, and still is no, doubt in your mind that Terry would pull the trigger without hesitation. Even as you lie safely in your bunk in the institution, you can still feel the fear pulse through your veins. And no, you still can’t escape the images. The Russian woman entering the room. The gun, pointing at Mickey as he lies on the other dirty couch, just as bloody as yourself, fear evident in his eyes. The Russian woman, as she rides him. Mickey, as he suddenly flips her over and starts fucking her, still at gunpoint. You feel the tears pressing on, but won’t allow yourself to let them form. Not in here. Instead, you try to think of something else. You try to think of the great evening you had had before Terry walked in. You try _not_ to think about how those memories, the memories of probably one of the best days you’ve had for a while, should be the ones you can’t get out of your head. 

_________________________________________________________________________

He’s marrying her. She got knocked up, and now he’s marrying her. Your skin is crawling, your blood is boiling, your heart is racing, your head is pounding. Fuck! This can’t be fucking happening. The world is so fucking unfair. Your heart is breaking, and you’re not sure if it’s on your own behalf, or his. Probably both. Fuck, you wish he would do something. Even if, deep down, you know there’s not really anything he can do. But, fuck, it still hurts. 

_________________________________________________________________________

Fuck, you wish he had done something. He’s up there, by the altar, getting fucking married. To some random Russian whore. And here you are, just watching as the man you love – because there is no denying that you love him – is slipping away. The thought of him actually being hers, even if it’s just on paper, makes you wanna scream. Instead, you drink. 

Saying that you’re “drowning your sorrows” in alcohol is some of the biggest piece of bullshit you’ve ever heard – and you’ve lived with Frank for 16 years. You’re drunker than you’ve ever been before, and also sadder than you’ve ever been before. In fact, everything seems more suffocating and overwhelming for every beer you drink. 

Suddenly, in your drunken, self-loathing haze, you get a vision. A vision of seeing the ring on his finger every day. Seeing it there, even as you’re fucking – if you ever get to do that again – as a constant reminder that Mickey is not yours. Being at the Milkoviches’ house, even if you’re just there for Mandy, and seeing that Russian cunt. Seeing her baby. _Their baby_. You realize that you can’t do that. Not any of it. You need to get out. You need to get away. 

And then it hits you. You need to enlist.

**Author's Note:**

> If you found that to be good: thank you! If you found it to be utter shit: sorry :/  
> Writing this was a bit of a challenge, both in terms of characterisation and expressing emotion, but hopefully I didn't do too bad...  
> Comments are appreciated! 
> 
> (PS: I honestly do not wanna know how many times I used the word "you" in this fic, holy fuck)


End file.
